


Dreamgasm

by goodcasting



Series: Twisted and Steamy [3]
Category: Johnny's Entertainment, SixTONES (Band)
Genre: Hokuto POV, Hokuto is going crazy, M/M, One Night Stands, Paint Kink, Porn With Plot, Shameless Smut, Slow Burn, Taiga is a tease, Taiga is a temp, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Weird Plot Shit, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:35:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26773753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodcasting/pseuds/goodcasting
Summary: The start of a twisted relationship between a painter and a yakuza as Hokuto is tormented with dreams about Taiga, while Taiga remains oblivious of Hokuto's internal struggle, until one night...
Relationships: Kyomoto Taiga/Matsumura Hokuto
Series: Twisted and Steamy [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928986
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	Dreamgasm

**Author's Note:**

> -Written in Hokuto's (first) POV  
> -Apparently in smut world, October is not just sweater weather, Halloween, or Octoberfest, but it's KINKOCTOBER, so let me try writing about that all October.  
> -Initially, I was going to call this part as simply "dreams" (boring!) until I received an email newsletter from Charlotte Tilbury about one of their eyeshadow palette called "dreamgasm", and I was like, that's gonna be the title for this!  
> Enjoy!

I opened my eyes and found myself outside of Kyomoto’s studio, the door is ajar, I could hear moans inside, moans coming from two people, I shook my head, why am I here in the first place? I was about to turn my back when I heard Kyomoto call my name, well, more like moaned my name. I must be wrong, of course, I’m wrong, I probably misheard it, I was about to turn again when he repeated my name, twice this time around, and I couldn’t fathom why he would be calling my name when he was obviously shagging someone else. I pursed my lips, cursed myself, and when I heard Kyomoto shout my name in an obvious fit of pleasure, I opened the door, and what I saw inside was enough to throw me off my sanity. In the middle of Kyomoto’s studio is him on the floor, naked and panting, and on top of him, thrusting and purring with satisfaction is none other than me.

_Rrriiinngggg…._

I blindly reach for my ringing phone, my shirt and bed wet from my sweat, for fuck’s sake, a full-on erection. It was just a dream, well, I’ve been dreaming about Kyomoto for two nights since I was “sold” to him, sold like a slave where I have to be on his beck and call while he works on the restoration. I have no idea why Watanabe agreed just like I have no idea why Watanabe had to hide the fact that they are cousins.

I regulated my breath before answering, “Hello, Matsumu-”

“Hokuto!”

I instantly knew its Kyomoto, his voice chirpy and my erection reacted by getting harder. How hard could my cock get from just a voice? A voice that has tormented me in my dreams these past nights.

“Will you be late at work?” Kyomoto asked.

I immediately got up when I saw the time, it’s 10 minutes before 9 in the morning and I have never been late at work.

“S-sorry,” I took long strides to the bathroom, “I overslept, but I’ll be there in less than 20 minutes, see you later,” I ended the call, cursed my erection to die, while I try to wash my face and brush my teeth at the same time.

I reached the gallery at exactly 9:20 am, I breathe a sigh of relief when I saw my reflection on the newly-installed glass front, I managed to tame my bed hair with a generous amount of pomade, my hair is so flat that my ears is more prominent, I wore my prescription glasses to complete my geeky look, I adjusted my blue tie since it’s askew, and I was gonna slide on some lip balm when I noticed my secretary looking at me as though I’m one of those stupid people who use glass windows as their personal mirror.

“Sorry, I’m late,” I said as I enter the reception area. The gallery looks brand new, not a hint that there was a break-in the day before.

“He hates me,” Maya, the gallery’s secretary-slash-receptionist, whispered as she handed me our daily meeting folder, “you only have two appointments today, one is a buyer and the other wanted to talk about having an exhibit here.”

“Thank you,” I repeatedly shook my head as I perused the meeting folder, “I really want this artist to have an exhibit here, but because Kyomoto will be using the entire sculpture wing as his restoration area, I don’t think this can be done until he’s done. Why do you think he hates you?” Maya is one of the prettiest women I’ve met, her beauty is the type where you would stare and questioned how the two of you could be the same species. I remembered the woman that Kyomoto flirted back in the club, and I would think that Maya would be his type.

“He scoffed and rolled his eyes the moment he learned that I’m your secretary, he even asked why would there be a woman in a money-laundering art gallery of a _yakuza_ , really? He obviously hates this place and our boss; I don’t know why he accepted the job.”

Probably to personally and psychologically torment me, I said to myself, just like how he tormented me in my dreams. “Well, let’s just do our best to keep him happy so he’ll finish the restoration as soon as possible,” I forced myself to smile, “is he in the restoration area?”

“Yep, straight ahead.”

The cold and well-lit sculpture wing of the gallery has been transformed into dark and eerie, one could immediately tell that the place is off-limits. My men did a good job in transforming the area exactly to Kyomoto’s specifications; floor to ceiling black curtains, halogen lamps, a cart filled with a flask of chemicals and jars of pigment, a bundle of wooden dowels and cotton wool, a set of Winsor and Newton Series 7 sable brushes, a magnifying visor, and of course, the star of this restoration, safely propped on the easel waiting to be renewed. The place could pass as an operating theater with Kyomoto as the head surgeon and the Vermeer as his patient.

I feel excited to see an artist in the middle of an art restoration work, so I got disappointed when I saw Kyomoto at the far end of the hall, sitting with his legs crossed on the floor while he read books and fanning his self. One of the halogen lamps was lit beside him, he had glasses on, and he’s wearing his usual outfit, distressed jeans and white tee with the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders.

“Good morning,” I greeted with caution, afraid that I might cause unnecessary disturbance. He looked up from the book and adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“You’re late,” he said and tapped the space beside him, “join me here and remove your shoes.” I quickly removed my shoes before entering his lair and sat beside him, I scanned the titles and they were all related to Vermeer.

“My office is cooler upstairs, that’s better than-”

“I’m fine,” he said even though I could feel the baking heat emanating from the halogen lamp beside him.

I looked at Vermeer’s _Girl Interrupted at her Music_ , quite saddened of what it went through, it has darkened with age, the varnish yellowed, it was also grimy with some abrasions, and worse, the attackers decided to scribble "fake” across it using red paint.

“What do you think of the Vermeer? Is it salvageable?”

Kyomoto glance at the painting and grimaced, “it’ll be hard, the mural I restored in Umbria isn’t even 20 years old, this one is more than centuries old. It’s going to be tricky.”

I nod my head, “uhm, have Watanabe-san told you anything about this Vermeer? Like how we acquired it?”

“I don’t want to know, the less I know, the better. I’m not interested in what you and that jerk are doing.”

“Okay,” that cemented my initial assumption that he hates Watanabe, “but what do you think of this Vermeer?”

“I’m not really into Old Masters, especially Vermeer’s, not because they were bad, he captured everyday life beautifully, but that was the past. Nowadays, I find painting everyday life as dull and tiring as living. That’s why I prefer modern art, they awaken me from this dreary life, and I can do what I want, break from the conventional, and putting life back to stuff that people have forgotten as part of the living.”

I was silent for a while, didn’t think that Kyomoto could be this deep, he spoke like a true artist who pursued his passions as he saw fit. I used to think that he’s one of those “trust fund babies”, who has too much money but little time for hard studies, so they pursued art as though they were doing something noble.

“Is that why your paintings are never people, like that Birch tree?”

“Ah, you saw that,” he said with boredom, he didn’t look like he wanted to talk about his work more.

“Yes, it was beautiful,” I said. From where I was seated, I couldn’t help but stare at Kyomoto’s side profile, his lips slightly parted as he whistles softly, his hair sticking to his moist cheeks, and I could only swallow hard as I watch a bead of sweat ran from his temple to his cheeks to his jaw before it slides down his neck. I immediately stood up; images of me licking that bead of sweat appeared like a premonition. Having those dreams is making me some kind of pervert.

“This is crazy, just read these in my office,” I picked up the books before he could protest, “I have a client meeting and my armpit is sweating,” I said as an excuse.

***

“I need you to be strong….and stable….not weak…..and wobbly,” Kyomoto said in between licking my penis like ice cream, his brown eyes looked so innocent while doing something filthy erotic.

My knuckles turned white as I gripped on the arm of my swivel chair while heat traveled from my legs to my feet. “T-this isn’t part of the t-the contract,” I said with a sigh, which would probably go down in history as the lamest way of resisting a blow job.

“Yes it is, part of the contract is that you must feed me,” with hunger in his eyes, Kyomoto ate me whole, I could only grit my teeth when I felt the warmth and wetness inside his mouth, my hips automatically rising like I’m offering myself, and it took me every ounce of my remaining energy and sanity not to cum inside his mouth.

“You also want this, Hokuto, you were already hard when I went down on you,” and to prove his point, he started teasing me by licking only the tip of my cock, kissing it, wetting it, but never putting it all the way inside.

“Please….” I begged with a shudder.

Kyomoto smiled at me triumphantly, “louder, Hokuto,” he whispered as he started working my shaft, up and down, tight and fast.

“Please,” I repeated while my legs start tingling, and my brain going haywire.

“Please what?”

“Please, what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, what do you think you should say?”

I sighed in defeat, “Please eat my cock.”

Kyomoto smiled again before putting my cock in his mouth, taking me deeper, his mouth and tongue driving me over the edge, waves of electric current traveled from my legs to my toes that my legs turned jelly making me slide down from my seat.

_Beep, Beep, Beep…._

I woke from the sound of my alarm, I still have 2 hours before 9, and unfinished business. I cursed myself upon seeing my morning wood, harder than usual, and images of Kyomoto’s mouth on it came rushing in, I let out more expletives, I felt like a loser, a sex-starved loser, and to prove my stupid point, I decided to relieve my wood by recalling my dream.

For the next week, Kyomoto had proven me wrong. I assumed that he would maximize the use of the so-called ‘slave contract’ by being difficult, demanding, and bratty, but he spent his days as though he entered a different dimension, a dimension that only has him and the Vermeer as he began the phase one of his restoration work, which was removing the red paint. Whenever I bring Kyomoto’s morning coffee and an afternoon snack, the only 2 meals he required, he would never look-up or even acknowledged my presence, and sometimes I would ask him if he needs anything else, but he would never reply not even a shake or nod of his head. 

Weirdly, I didn't like being ignored, as I'd rather be ordered around than be treated like nothing, but I guess the most surprising thing about seeing Kyomoto at work is that I found him scary. There was something dangerous and intimidating in him that I couldn’t pinpoint exactly, was it the intensity of his gaze? Or the calmness in his movements? Whatever it is, it made me wary of him that I decided to treat Kyomoto like a fragile item in our gallery, something that should be handled with utmost care and constraint, so except for bringing him meals, I didn’t dare to enter what we referred as the "Tiger's Lair" or even watched him work.

***

I was about to go home when I saw a light in the Tiger's Lair. I figured that he must have forgotten to turn it off since he always leaves the place at exactly 5 pm so I went to the area and was surprised to see him still there.

I cleared my throat, wasn’t expecting that he would even bother to look, but he did, he even smiled.

“It’s late, why are you still here?” He asked.

“Well, I could say the same to you.”

“Almost done removing with the red paint,” he said before discarding a swab, “do you want to look at it?”

I was planning to say no, but my feet have their own mind and just stepped inside Kyomoto’s lair. I held my breath as I could now see the face of the Vermeer’s models, the red paint almost is gone.

“Do you want to try removing it?” Kyomoto handed me his own fashioned swab, cotton wool compressed on top of a wooden dowel, very much like the usual Q-tip, but artsy, I guess.

I held the swab on my hand, afraid to do anything with it, “I-I might just do something irreversible,” I said. Kyomoto placed his hand on mine, closed it on my fingers holding the swab, before guiding me, “Dip it in the solvent, now twirl it on top of the paint, one swipe each clean side of the wool, then discard.” I didn’t understand that much because I was busy feeling his palm on mine. Kyomoto’s hand may look like a girl’s, thin and long, but it’s definitely that of a man’s, rough and warm.

“That was quick,” I said, “although, it seems like a long process if you’re removing paint with just two-three swipes per cotton.”

“Yes, it’s like cleaning an airplane using a toothbrush,” Kyomoto smiled, he actually looked happy doing this arduous process.

“Now, try doing it on your own, Hokuto.” Although he said that, he didn’t remove his hand, instead he started trailing the veins on the back of my palms and up to my forearms, his fingers threading lightly, but the intensity of his touch is enough for something to tighten down there.

“You have very interesting veins,” he said before moving to trail the veins on my neck, his face moving closer to mine, I could feel his warm breath on my face, our noses almost touching, we stood there like a pair of dogs who met at the park and decided to just smell each other.

“Can I kiss you?” I’m this close not to bite and suck his lips.

“You can,” Kyomoto whispered back, our eyes met, his lips slightly parted and ready, but before I could kiss him, someone knocked on the door.

I woke from the loud banging on my door, I reached for my phone and saw that it wasn’t even 7 yet, and I could only curse the person outside of my door when I opened it.

“Woah, chill!” my neighbor, Tsuneo, said. He’s also part of the clan and lives 2 doors away.

“What do you want?” I didn’t know whether I’m in a bad mood because it was too early or because he interrupted my dream.

“8 pm tonight, _goukon_.”

“Not interested.” I was gonna close my door but he put his foot in between.

“Please, Hokuto, we need your face to pull the ladies, you don’t have to do anything, you just need to be present.”

“Not interested.”

“C’mon, man, you also need to date. You’re not planning to spend the rest of your life like a monk, right? Life is too short to have only eaten one kind of meal.”

I opened my door, how do I tell him that I might be interested in sampling a different meal? But I also thought, all those nights when I dreamt nothing but Kyomoto, maybe, just maybe, I need something like this to clear my mind.

“Fine, message me where.” So on the last day of the workweek, I decided to get laid.

***

“Oh god, oh fuck, oooooh!” Sara exclaimed as I pulled from her, she was still in spasms from her orgasm as she reached for a kiss and I reluctantly kissed her back.

“I’m going shower,” she said when she had stopped shaking, she didn't even bother covering herself and she even looked back to say that I could join her anytime.

I smiled and lit a cig, I hadn’t smoked for ages, but I felt like I needed this, just like I felt that I needed sex to rid myself with dreams of Kyomoto every night. I met Sara in the _goukon_ , she said she only wanted sex, and I’m in need. However, the sex didn’t work, Kyomoto was still in my mind the whole time even though I chose someone like Sara, dark hair and tanned skin, and I still saw Kyomoto the moment I entered her, it was him writhing in pleasure underneath me, it was his arms around my neck, it was his moans that I hear, it was his nails that dug on my back when she was being thrown off her edge, it was him that I kissed, and in my mind, I shouted Kyomoto’s name when I came.

I decided to head to my friend’s bar after that disappointing one-night stand, I assured Sara that the problem is on me when she asked for another round, and I just couldn’t bear to be more of a prick. The underground club was in full swing when I arrived; my friend had his hands full so I just sat in one darkened corner while I drank everything he served me. I could be drinking someone else’s leftover, or a mixture of leftover alcohol, but I didn’t care, alcohol could cause a blackout, right? Maybe a blackout could give me that dreamless night that I needed, or maybe, I’d better see a shrink instead. 

“Hokuto?” I swallowed hard; I must be too drunk that I’m seeing hallucinations. Kyomoto sat beside me, his hands cupping a beer bottle, and he was wearing the same outfit when I first saw him here.

“You look, you looked like you had a really bad night,” he said and I could tell that he chose his words nicely since I knew that I looked miserable. 

“Looks like your arms are empty tonight,” I said instead and Kyomoto immediately understood who I meant.

“Caroline’s not here tonight.”

“Oh, that’s her name? Sounds foreign,” I said before drinking another glass of whatever alcohol concoction.

“She’s Brazilian-Japanese, she flew back to Brazil this evening.”

“Oh,” trust Kyomoto to have a Brazilian-Japanese on his arms while I had someone I just met on a _goukon_.

“So, you have no one with you tonight?”

“Why, are you free tonight?” He teased.

I let another alcohol mix set my throat on fire, “Remember when we first met, you said you wanted to taste me, is that offer still stands?”

Kyomoto didn’t answer, he looked at me as if I’m a schizophrenic having a fit of psychosis, or maybe, I am.

“You could taste me, let’s taste each other, let’s fuck.”

**Author's Note:**

> -Is that cliffhanger just another tease? Hmmmm.....  
> -I noticed that I've never said this but thank you for leaving comments and kudos, even to anons, I guess we're all a bunch of introverts here so thank you for leaving something.  
> -Finally, are you excited about TrackONE-IMPACT-DVD? I was bawling from the teaser alone, Taiga is too pretty for words, and I just can't wait for Oct 14! Sorry for blabbing about this, but if there's a KyomoHoku moment/s, I swear, I'm so gonna write something akin to that four-letter genre. The Cringe!  
> -Thank you so much for reading!


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